


Those Left Behind

by Kendalina



Category: CSI: Miami
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-17
Updated: 2013-09-17
Packaged: 2017-12-26 21:23:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/970440
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kendalina/pseuds/Kendalina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Horatio's thoughts after the events of Lost Son</p>
            </blockquote>





	Those Left Behind

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I just borrow their wonderful creations. I don't own them. The ideas however are all mine.
> 
> Originally posted under the pen name Terabithia.... just consolidating everything under one name now.

I'd long suspected Tim had secrets he never let on to any of us. Hurts so deep they wouldn't heal. But he worked well. Maybe too well, total concentration. But since I often did the same, as did many of our team, I couldn't really complain. I had wondered if he was seeking death. But CSI was hardly the place to find it quickly. If that was really the case he would've picked the Bomb squad, or SWAT. So I kept my suspicions quite and my eyes open.

I watched him die a little more each day. Watched him smile less, move a little more mechanically. And finally I watched him draw his last breath choking on his own blood. He had drawn his weapon. I drew mine. Then the bullets started flying. Out of the corner of my eye I thought I saw him check his gun. Then my attention was focused completely on the shooter. Then just like that it was over. I turned and saw him down. I don't remember how I got to his side. I only dimly recall Calling for an ambulance. I knew he couldn't survive. I could see the damage. But still I urged him to hang on, still comforted him. When he went I thought my own heart would stop from the pain. I didn't move from his side when the first officers arrived. Didn't move for the paramedics. Didn't move when my team began to arrive. Finally Alex came. I let her take him from me. She would look after him. I trusted only her.

Any other case we could have handed off. Taken the time to grieve. But this was a kidnapping. There was still a little boy out there who needed us to save him. So we each buried our grief the best we could. Some managed better then others. And we carried on. We found little Joey. Reunited him with his mother.

I went home that night and put my fist through my hall wall. I wondered if I would cry, but no tears came. So anger and violence was the next best thing. I went to the firing range the next day and emptied several clips in to the targets. Others there looked at me knowingly. Everyone knew by now. As I left I passed Eric on this way in. I had no doubt Calleigh would show up at some point too.

The funeral came. I've never liked official funerals. While they honor the fallen hero, and allow the department and police community at large to mourn a fallen comrade, they don't allow those closest to him to grieve. Too many people, too many eyes watching. I added two more holes to my wall that night.

When we returned to work the following week nobody asked about my scraped and bruised knuckles. And I didn't question why Eric's locker now sported an ever-increasing number of dents and why his knuckles were colored too. Why Calleigh was suddenly logging so many hours at the firing range. Or Alex's sudden need to bring cookies and mother us all.

But crime continued and we started to develop a new routine around our missing man. I wasn't looking for a new CSI yet. We weren't ready, that's all there was to it. Any new person who came in would be resented for taking Tim's spot. Wouldn't have been fair to any of us.

It was a little over a week after the funeral that Mrs. Speedle came to see me. We said all the right things. Without ever saying the important things. She had brought a box of things they'd found sorting through Tim's belongings. Things that they thought were better suited to co-workers then to family or charity.

I took the box returned to my office and shut the door. I looked at the box for a long moment then removed the lid and set it aside. On top were several pictures in frames. They were of us. Them team at various department events. Christmas parties, picnics that kind of thing. Our faces smiling, laughing. Even Speed though his eyes didn't quite match the expression on his face. I would share these with the team when we were ready. Next in the box were some books. Procedure manuals and science texts. I set the books aside too. Then I looked into the bottom of the box, there were a few remaining things.

That was when I saw it. I stared at it for a long moment not knowing if I wanted to pick it up. But I did I reached down and picked up the small case that had grabbed my attention. My knees gave way and I sank in to my chair. I set the small case on my desk in front of me. I recognized it. It was a gun cleaning kit. The one I'd given him after the dispo day incident. I reached out again and cautiously opened the case. Hoping, almost praying I wouldn't see what I suspected I would find. Yet there it was. Everything. Every swab, every drop of oil. He'd never used it.

And in that instant I knew. It wasn't carelessness, or an accident. Speed chose this path. He wanted to die. For whatever reason he couldn't or wouldn't end his own life. His death needed legitimacy. Maybe he wanted it for us. His friends and family. To save us the grief of knowing. Knowing that we weren't enough for him. Enough to make him want to live.

I slowly close the kit, and suddenly there's a drop of water on the lid. It takes me a moment but then I feel the moisture on my face. I'm crying. I don't even make an effort to stop. I put my head in my hands and I cry. I cry for Speed, for myself, for everyone who lost him. Everyone he left behind.


End file.
